


To Catch a Burglar

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bilbo is Fading, Fading Away, Fluff, M/M, Smut, The angst is strong in this one, Thilbo, bagginshield, guilt and comfort, post-botfa au, prompt, the dwarves are basically protective clucking hens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got this prompt from Queenofshire405:</p><p>Bilbo/Thorin - Fading<br/>I'd like a fic where, after BOFA, everyone lives. However, Bilbo leaves thinking everyone died (Possibly even those who didn't die in Canon, up to filler) hating him.<br/>So, after a pretty long recovery period, the dwarves go out to get their hobbit back...<br/>To find out that he is Fading, pretty much dying of a broken heart, from the grief of losing them.<br/>(OP would prefer happy ending, but by no means discourages making her cry)</p><p>She also asked if I would/could write something explicit ... And here's the surprise: Obviously I can *leaves the fic here and hides her blushing face*</p><p>Thank you for this prompt - to be honest, I rather enjoyed running riot with all the angst! I hope you enjoy what I made out of it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Catch a Burglar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reader4books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reader4books/gifts).



> The title is a little modification of the song "To Catch a Thief" by Annekke van Giersbergen/John Wetton which is absolutely beautiful, and I listened to it more than once while writting.

It was a strange thing, Thorin thought with a lump in his throat, that there was only one hobbit in the whole Shire that would welcome their visit, and whose home was the only one in the whole Shire that didn’t look welcoming at all.

The company had passed many homes on their way through Hobbiton, and all had been alight, the light of candles, lanterns, and hearth fires seeping through the windows, a cheery sight in the cold, wet autumn weather. It definitely felt like a good omen to the thirteen dwarves in their soaked coats, the hoods drawn deep into their faces. The wizard’s hat had definitely seen better times as well.

But it was the only good omen so far.

Thorin Oakenshield, who had witnessed the fall of Erebor in dragon-fire, who had lost most of his family in Azanulbizar, who had nearly died in the Battle of Five Armies, he who had gone through years of exile and hardship, was afraid of what would await him behind the round, green-painted door. He didn’t have to look at the faces of his companions to know that they felt the same. Not a single one of the dwarves who had set out to reclaim Erebor had wanted to be left behind – it was almost ironical how determined they had been to leave their regained home.

But it was for their hobbit.

Thorin had been devastated when he had awoken after the battle in a sickbed, barely able to move even his head without causing pain, only to hear that nobody could tell him about Bilbo’s whereabouts. The other dwarves had searched the battlefield several times without finding any hint of him. Thorin himself had searched it from the gates of Erebor up to Ravenhill despite his barely healed injuries, and only a severe rebound had been able to stop him.

There had been no Bilbo – not amongst the injured, not amongst the dead. The thought that an orc could just have snatched their hobbit to take him Mahal knows where had hunted Thorin’s nights and still did so sometimes. But he refused to believe that the agonizing images of his hobbit, held captive in the darkness and being utterly at the mercy of the cruel orcs and their torture, could be reality. He wouldn’t lose hope as long as he breathed, and so it had been the start of a frantic search. Scouts and messengers and ravens had been sent out. Gandalf had set out, and Radagast had asked his animal friends for help as well. The dwarves had even asked the elves of Mirkwood for their support – Thorin himself had asked, or rather _begged_ , not caring about pride or dignity for a single moment. He gave them credit for taking his worries seriously, although he thought there was no way they could have understood how serious he was. He had been utterly desperate.

Thorin couldn’t remember ever feeling so helpless. He had yearned to be a help in this search – he would have gone as far as Mordor or Valinor if he had had any clue where to search for Bilbo. But there was no clue, and it was useless to travel all over Middle-Earth without one.

And there was the mountain as well. Remembering that he also had other duties, he had worked hard to restore Erebor and offer a home for his people again – and to distract himself from the dull pain in his chest. Erebor thrived, his people prospered, and Thorin felt as if he was withering.

Thror had been a proud king, and he had received ambassadors in Erebor whenever it was possible, sitting in the heart of his kingdom on his throne. Thorin, on the contrary, had taken up the habit of leaving Erebor as often as possible, travelling as far as possible. But no matter how far he went, how many hours he spent talking to well-travelled rangers or merchants: He never heard a single word about a hobbit with golden curls and amber eyes.

There was no clue. Bilbo had vanished. And, if Thorin was honest, he didn’t think that the hobbit wanted to be found by him. The last time they had seen each other, Thorin had tried to throw him over the ramparts in his madness, and he could still see the terror in Bilbo’s eyes as it had been yesterday. He couldn’t blame him for running away – he still refused to believe that there could be any other explanation for his disappearance. He just wanted to know that he was safe.

All of his life, he had dreamed of the day when he could wear his grandfather’s crown and offer his people a home again. But it felt so … meaningless. He hated to admit it, but it was the truth. He had turned Erebor into a home for his people, and that was a noble purpose, but it was not what he longed for.

Thorin longed for Bilbo. To see him, to hear his voice. To tell him how sorry he was for everything that had happened between them, to tell him how glad he was for meeting him, to tell him … To tell him that he loved him. That it was okay if he didn’t feel the same – how could he after all that happened? – but that he had to tell him.

Thorin had fallen on his knees with relief when there had finally been a sign of Bilbo. Almost three years. Three endlessly long years until a raven appeared, bearing the message Thorin had been waiting for every day, hoping beyond hope. Gandalf had received word – obviously, his information network stretched over the whole of Middle-Earth – that Bilbo had suddenly reappeared in Bag-End.

The ink on the parchment had barely been dry when several ravens left Erebor for the Shire, carrying letters from different members of the company. They had wanted to make sure that one of their letters reached Bilbo, and Thorin also thought that he might read a message from Balin or Fili or Bofur more readily than from him. Endless days, whole weeks passed, and the ravens finally returned to the mountain. All of them had delivered their messages, but they brought no answers back. To none of them.

And that was the moment the company had acted. In fact, they had been ready to set out already before – Thorin had settled everything, leaving Dis in charge. His wonderful sister who had supported him so much during these three long years and who had understood his wish to see Bilbo all the time …

Within a few hours, the company was ready to depart, and they proved to everyone who crossed their way that dwarves were a resilient folk who could go with little rest and food without diminishing their strength for quite a while. In a minimum of time, they reached the Shire – their number enhanced by one, as they had met with Gandalf in Bree. The wizard in turn had ensured them that Bilbo was still in Bag-End – he had kept an eye on him even though he had been far away.

And now they stood here, in front of the green door of a cold home. They knew that Bilbo was here, though. They had questioned the hobbit at the stables where they had left their ponies, and his answer had only increased Thorin’s worries. The fellow had mumbled something about “Mad Baggins” running off into the blue and bolting himself up after his even stranger return, but the sight of thirteen dwarves and a wizard glaring angrily at him had made him close his mouth quickly.

Taking a deep breath, Thorin made a step forward and knocked at the green door. He waited for long moments.

“Maybe he’s already asleep?”, Ori mumbled nervously.

Thorin knocked again, but there was no answer. He tried opening the door. It wasn’t locked.

“Make sure to take your dirty boots and coats off”, Dori told the company quietly as they entered. “You know how proud Bilbo is of his home, so we won’t insult him by covering it with mud.”

With growing horror, Thorin realized that it wasn’t necessary of them to be so attentive. The floor was covered with dust, the air was stuffy, and it was freezing cold. This wasn’t the cosy home he had entered so long ago.

“Bilbo?”, he called out. In passing, he slipped his soaked coat off and put it carelessly on some dusty dresser. “Bilbo?” He went further on, hardly able to believe how desolate all the rooms were. The hobbit had disappeared for more than three years – he still felt a lump in his throat at this thought – but some months had already passed since his return to Bag-End. What had he been doing?

And then he found him.

Bilbo was sitting in his armchair. He wasn’t reading a book or drinking tea next to a warm hearth fire. Instead, he was surrounded by darkness. But it was Bilbo, it was their hobbit, and Thorin felt how a great weight was taken off his shoulders.

He tried to sound calm and confident as he bowed down. “Thorin Oakenshield and company, at your service.” There was some rustling as the other dwarves bowed down as well. Gandalf used his staff to enlighten the room, and as Thorin rose his head again he could finally see Bilbo.

His relief turned into anxiety within a moment, and he bolted forward.

“Bilbo”, Thorin said, unable to hide his bewilderment, and took his hands between his. He flinched – they were icy. And how different his hobbit looked! He was lean and pale, so pale, his hair dishevelled, and the beautiful amber eyes were open, but clouded. Bilbo’s careworn face was blank, and he showed no reaction as the dwarves assembled around him. No word came about his chapped lips. He didn’t even blink.

Gandalf took a step forward. He brought his hand close to Bilbo’s face and mumbled something. Whatever kind of magic he tried, it did not work, and he withdrew his hand again. Thorin looked at him, but the only answer he received was a weak shake of the head.

The king swallowed hard, but he straightened himself. “I don’t know what’s going on here”, he said as firmly as he could, “but we won’t let our hobbit sit in the dark and cold. Oin, Gloin, get a fire going. Bombur, Dwalin, take a look into the kitchen, maybe you’ll be able to make some tea. Nori, Dori, try to find warmer clothes. The rest of you, take a look around if you can find anything useful … or any hints what has happened here.”

The company scattered quickly, and Thorin found himself with Gandalf at Bilbo’s side. Thorin took his fur coat off and wrapped it around the hobbit. He received no reaction. 

“I’ve heard of something like that”, Gandalf finally said, “although I never thought that I would see it with my own eyes. He’s – ” He broke off, as if unsure if he should really speak his assumption – fear? – aloud.

“He’s what, Gandalf?”, Thorin probed, louder than he had intended. He glared at the wizard, biting his lips in order not to yell with frustration. He had imagined, hoped and feared so many things – but this –

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

The wizard took no offense. “Bilbo”, Gandalf answered quietly instead, “is fading.”

“Fading?”, Thorin echoed. “What does that mean? I’ve never heard of it before.” Oin and Gloin, who had been busy with logs and flint stone, listened attentively as well.

“It is a rare thing, fading. I only heard of it in the songs of the elves, and not even they can explain what happens exactly. I think you can compare it with a dream: As long as you’re asleep, your dream feels real, and even after waking up, you sometimes have the feeling that it is still tangible. But as the day grows older, your dream will become less real, a mere memory.”

“The dream’s fading”, Thorin summed up, feeling an icy lump in his stomach. “Are you telling me that Bilbo is slowly disappearing?” He looked at the hobbit. He deemed him so fragile, so … so … He swallowed. Faded. “But that’s – that’s not possible! How can something like this happen? And, what’s more important: How can it be cured?”

Gandalf looked at him, once again with a look on his face as if he was pondering if he should really tell him. Thorin realized the dark shadows under his eyes; the wizard seemed somewhat older. Bowed. His voice was barely audible when he said: “A broken heart. Fading is caused by a broken heart.”

Thorin turned to look at Bilbo with wide eyes. “Mahal help me”, he whispered as he began to understand what Gandalf had just told him. He wanted to sit down at Bilbo’s side, to tell him how sorry he was for all that had happened, and to take his hand until it felt warm again. However, he did not dare to do so. After all, he could not know how Bilbo would react if he approached him – he who had caused his heart to break.

Thorin felt as if he had been beaten down with an axe. He knew that he was the reason why Bilbo was fading. He had not been strong enough to withstand the dragon-sickness. He had threatened Bilbo, almost killed him, caused him to flee. He had robbed him of the chance to return to Erebor whenever he wanted to, to see his friends there, or to ask for help if it was needed. Because of his cruelty, Bilbo was only a mere shadow of his former self. Who could tell what Bilbo had gone through these long years, all on his own?

Suddenly he felt Gandalf’s hand on his shoulder. “Not even the wise know how a broken heart can be cured”, the wizard spoke softly, “but I think that you’re on the right track. Take care of Bilbo. Speak to him. Show him that you are here for him. _All_ of you.” He squeezed Thorin’s shoulder. “Do not fret about what cannot be undone. I think Bilbo still values you, more than you think. Just look.”

Gandalf gave him a slight nudge with his staff, and Thorin approached the armchair with wobbly feet. It took him a moment to realize what the wizard had hinted at, but then he saw it: Something shone through Bilbo’s dirty, worn shirt. Thorin knew this kind of gleam, it was unmistakable.

“Mithril”, he whispered. “You still wear it? Does this mean … that you still care about me?” His heart leaped in his chest as he kneeled down beside Bilbo’s chair. “We’re here, Bilbo, we’re all here, and we will take care of you. We won’t let you disappear.” He kept mumbling such encouragements until the first dwarves reappeared from their search, and he got up to speak to Nori and Dori. They looked harassed, and Thorin’s worries returned.

“It’s worse than we expected”, Dori murmured. “We looked for warm clothes like you told us, but … they’re all dusty and moth-eaten. Didn’t Gandalf say that Bilbo returned about five months ago? By Durin’s beard, did he just sit here all this time?”

Not a single clean garment? Thorin remembered how much Bilbo had mourned the loss of his waistcoat-buttons; it deemed him unbelievable that he would neglect his clothes that much. But, on the other hand, it had also deemed him unbelievable that he should neglect his beloved home that much.

“I think I’ve got a spare tunic in my luggage”, he said absent-mindedly. “Just take it. And put it in front of the fire for a while to warm.” He could already hear the next dwarf approach and prepared for another blow.

“The pantries and the kitchen don’t look better than the rest of the house”, Dwalin commented on entering the parlour. “Almost empty, and the few remains are rotten. However, Bombur did really manage to find some tea leaves …” He showed the steaming cup as if to prove that not all was lost; it looked rather little in his hands, and the spoon he carried was even tinier.

Ori was the next to peep into the room. “I’ve found the letters we wrote. They’re not opened …”

He was interrupted when Fili and Kili returned, and they looked a bit more cheerful. “The bathroom seems to be completely intact, and we’ve managed to heat some water, it will be ready soon – we thought a hot bath might be a good idea …”

“It is.” Thorin showed his nephews a quick smile and turned to watch Dwalin’s attempts to make Bilbo drink the tea. He fed it to him a spoonful at a time and with a considerable amount of patience. As he did so, more of the dwarves found their way into the parlour. The air was filled with the crackling of the fire, and Bofur began to play a quiet melody on his flute. Somewhere in the background, Dori and his brothers started to do some dusting. Thorin was glad for their prudence. Maybe it would help Bilbo if his home felt a bit more like a real home.

Finally, the tea cup was empty, although it didn’t seem that it had any effect on Bilbo. His skin was still cold as Thorin wrapped his arms around him and lifted him up. The hobbit felt light as thistledown as he carried him into the bath room.

Fili and Kili had been busy, for they were welcomes by wafts of mist. For a moment Thorin was unsure what to do next – he wasn’t sure if Bilbo could stand on his own. Cautiously, he put him on the ground again, hands on his shoulder and back to steady him. But there was no need, Bilbo didn’t collapse. He just stood there, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, doing nothing. He didn’t even blink as Kili grabbed his arms and held them up so that Fili could get him out of his shirt. The eyes of his nephews widened as they saw the mithril, but they didn’t comment on it.

Thorin frowned as he saw the plain golden ring Bilbo wore around his neck. He couldn’t remember seeing it before. Fili took it and pulled it over the hobbit’s head, putting it on a side table.

Fili’s hand had barely touched the mithril when Bilbo underwent a change. All of a sudden he gave a hiss, and he pushed the young dwarves away.

“Hands off!”, he snarled in a shrill voice; Thorin could hardly believe that it was the voice he had longed to hear again. It was a stranger’s. “It’s mine! Mine! It’s the only thing left! They’re – they’re – ” His voice trailed off. The dwarves stared at him for long moments, but it was as if this outburst had never happened. Bilbo stood motionless once more.

“Uncle …” Fili’s voice was uneven, and the shock was written in his face.

“Did we do something wrong?” Kili swallowed hard. “Bilbo? We … we want to help you.” He took a step closer – all of them had pulled away at Bilbo’s outburst – and stretched a finger out to touch the hobbit’s hand. No reaction. “You’re so cold, a hot bath would certainly help you, but –”

“Kili”, Thorin interrupted gently, “it won’t do. I’m afraid we have to skip the bath for now. But don’t worry, we’ll think of something. Let’s do what we can for now, okay?”

Kili nodded with a sniff, though he looked as downcast as Thorin felt.

Together, they managed to clothe Bilbo into the spare tunic that Bifur brought them. Bilbo didn’t stir when they took off his shabby pants and pulled the tunic over his head. It was a sad task, all the more as Thorin remembered the times he had imagined yearningly what Bilbo would look like under his layers of clothes, how his skin would feel under his hands, what sounds his touches might call forth. Such fantasies had kept him awake in many nights, but he could never have imagined such a situation. His throat felt constricted.

In the meanwhile, the other members of the company had been busy. As Thorin entered the bedroom, carrying Bilbo in his arms once more, he found it lit by warm candle light, free of dust, and the scent of herbs was in the air. He rested Bilbo on the bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin. The sheets were clean and fresh, and he wondered how the others had managed all this in such a short time. Soon afterwards, Gloin came and brought a small smudge pot they put under the blankets to warm Bilbo.

“I’m afraid this will be a long night”, Thorin confided, feeling very weary all of a sudden.

“We’re all here”, Gloin said with a little smile. His eyes rested on Bilbo while he spoke, but there was something in his voice that made Thorin feel a little better as well. “Gandalf says that it needs a while to mend a broken heart, but we are sons of the Maker. If there is anybody who can achieve this, then it’s us.”

 

***

 

The next day was grey and cold and matched the mood of the dwarves.

The night had passed slowly, and they had sat in pairs at Bilbo’s bedside so the others could get a little rest. Thorin, however, hadn’t been able to sleep; most of the time he had wandered aimlessly through the halls of Bag-End, remembering the last time he had been here, or he had joined the dwarves at Bilbo’s bedside. They had talked to him about everything and nothing: memories from their journey, of Erebor, tales from their history …

And all night long, Bilbo hadn’t shown the slightest indication that he could hear them. He stayed silent, and his eyes were blind.

Thorin had told Gandalf about the sudden aggressiveness when they had tried to take the mithril shirt from him. The wizard had even thought that it might be a good sign: At least Bilbo reacted to inducements if they were strong enough which meant that it wasn’t too late to heal him.

They also did their best to turn Bag-End into a comfortable home again. Despite the heavy rain, a group under the command of Bombur had set out to the markets. In any other situation, Thorin would have smiled when thinking about the faces the poor hobbit merchants would probably make when confronted with a bunch of strange dwarves. They had brought back packages, sacks, and baskets with food, and it didn’t take long until delicious smells poured out of the kitchen. However, none of them felt very hungry – even Bombur only stared into his bowl. He had taken great care to cook a rather thin, yet nourishing soup for Bilbo, and with great patience and care they managed to feed half a bowl to him.

Another achievement was that they had successfully come up with a way to get Bilbo into the bath. Thorin had taken the hobbit’s hands and had pressed them against the mithril so that Bilbo could feel the metal and his hands were never taken off it. Meanwhile, Nori – it had been decided that he had the quickest, cleverest fingers for such a task – had pulled the shirt over Bilbo’s head, and the hobbit didn’t react as long as his grasp around the mithril was tight enough. Then he had sat in the warm water, a hand dangling over the edge of the tub, still clutching the precious metal.

Now, as night was already approaching, he leaned against his pillows, once more clad in the mithril shirt and Thorin’s spare tunic as well as in his fur coat. But despite all their efforts, he was still fading. No soup and no bath could warm his skin for more than a few minutes, and no word that was uttered in all these hours and hours of talking reached his ears.

“Nothing seems to help”, Thorin said quietly to Gandalf as they looked at the hobbit. Right now, Oin and Ori sat with the hobbit, and Ori was talking about Erebor’s library.

“We don’t know how long Bilbo has been in this condition”, the wizard tried to appease him. “Healing will take its time.” But the way he looked at the hobbit proved him a liar. Gandalf was worried, very worried, and he couldn’t hide it from Thorin.

He clenched his fists. He felt so helpless. Was there nothing more they could do? Trying to warm Bilbo’s body wouldn’t solve the problem – this was no ordinary cold, it was something deeper. But what could he do? He was still afraid how – or if – Bilbo would react if the both of them were left alone. Yes, he had kept the mithril shirt, but did that really mean that he had forgiven him? He had thought that it could be possible, that Bilbo still thought fondly of him from time to time. But his fears got stronger with every hour that passed. If his presence only hastened the fading –

There was a knock at the bedroom door, and Balin and Fili and Kili entered, the elder dwarf carrying another cup of tea.

“Something for our hobbit”, Balin said with a soft smile.

“We know that it’s not four o’clock”, Kili cried over Fili’s shoulder – he kept very close to his brother since they had found out that Bilbo was fading. “And it’s not even our turn, but the more the merrier, right?”

“Why do you speak?”

There was dead silence. The eyes of six dwarves and a wizard turned to the bed. Long moments passed – and then, Bilbo’s lips moved.

“Why do you speak?”, he asked once more, his voice flat and emotionless. It sounded so unfamiliar to Thorin’s ears that it almost hurt physically. “You never speak. I see you all the time, but you never speak. You cannot speak.” Another pause. “You are dead. The dead cannot speak.”

It was Gandalf who broke the silence. “We are not dead, my dear Bilbo.” It was a simple sentence, but it hung in the air like a sword, ready to fall down any moment.

“A battle.” The words came slowly over Bilbo’s lips. There was some rustle as the other dwarves dashed into the bedroom; it was soon cramped, but nobody dared to say a word. All eyes were glued to Bilbo’s lips, and Thorin held his breath so that he wouldn’t miss a single word.

“The battle”, Bilbo repeated. All the time he spoke, his eyes stared blindly into space. “My fault. I could have prevented it. But I could not. There was the battle, and it killed you all. I did. My fault.”

Again it was Gandalf who answered, and Thorin was glad for it. He didn’t know how to respond. Bilbo thought that they were dead! And that it was his fault! He bit his lips. What had made him think like this? The brave soul had tried everything to avoid war! It wasn’t his fault that there had been a battle – Thorin’s madness had been too strong. Not even Bilbo had been able to stop him from waging war over Erebor’s gold.

“You’re mistaken”, Gandalf said friendly, as if he was talking to a child. “The company of Thorin Oakenshield is alive and well. They are all here, Bilbo.”

Dwalin was the first of them to speak. “Dwalin, at your service”, he said solemnly. The other followed his example, and every member of the company introduced himself. There were all different sorts of “At your service”, from a rather shy one from Ori over a joyful from Bofur to an emotional from Bifur. Thorin was the last to speak, and he had to wet his lips first. He felt very tense, and his voice was hoarse when he finally managed to say: “Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.”

The moments stretched cruelly. Thorin did not dare to breathe. He knew that the others felt the same, but he kept his eyes firmly on Bilbo. Was it just his imagination, or had a little frown appeared between his brows?

“Alive”, he suddenly said, still in a flat voice. “You are … alive?”

A smile appeared on Gandalf’s face. “You said yourself that the dead can’t speak, but we all can. That means that we are all alive, don’t you agree?”

There _was_ a little frown, Thorin was sure. Bilbo thought about Gandalf’s words, which meant that they filtered down to him!

“I am glad.” The contrast between these words and the way in which they were uttered made Thorin shiver. Bilbo had finally acknowledged their presence, he finally spoke, but Thorin was afraid that the danger of his fading away wasn’t yet over.

 

***

 

It turned out too soon that Thorin had been right.

The dwarves started rather optimistic into the new day. The severe rain had stopped, and they felt a bit relieved now that Bilbo had talked to them and they knew what had caused him to fade. It was a pointer, finally, and something they could refer to. However, as they could not deny that the sky above Hobbiton was still dull and clouded, they could also not deny that Bilbo’s eyes were dull and clouded as well, and that the air outside of Bag End was chill, as was Bilbo’s skin.

Thorin’s heart got heavier the longer the day lasted. Gandalf had told him more than once that healing needed its time, but he was afraid that there wasn’t any healing at all. They all did their best: Oin kept the scent of herbs in the air fresh, Dori brought Bilbo tea at regular intervals, Bombur had prepared little scones they dipped into tea or warm milk to feed to him, Bofur entertained him with his flute, Ori read to him … But nothing helped. No bath and no hot food or drink could banish the cold, not the most foolish pranks Fili and Kili told him could lift the cloud over his face for a single moment, and none of the mechanical toys Bifur showed to him could make him even blink.

It was already late at night when Thorin found the youngest dwarves sitting in the bedroom. Kili and Ori had fallen asleep and were leaning against Fili who sat in the middle. He could tell from the way Fili sat on his chair that he was close to nodding off as well. He approached them quietly – he had taken off his heavy boots long ago, he didn’t want to spread mud all over Bilbo’s house – and shook their shoulders carefully.

“Go to bed, boys”, he said softly.

“But we’re looking after Uncle Bilbo”, Kili answered, barely able to open his eyes.

“We don’t want to leave him”, Fili added with yawn. Ori didn’t say anything at all, but shifted closer to the brothers.

“I’ll look after him”, Thorin assured them. “You need to rest, at least for a bit.”

Fili blinked at him as if he was waiting for an addition, but then he nodded. They got up and left – actually, Fili dragged the still half-asleep dwarves out of the room, and Thorin found himself left alone with Bilbo.

He realized that he had never been left alone with Bilbo so far – they had always been at his side in sets of at least two. He sat down at the edge of the bed, not knowing where to look or what to say. If he was honest, he was afraid to speak … or to be here, alone with Bilbo, at all.

He had pondered about the few words Bilbo had spoken the whole time. He had thought them to be dead, to be killed in the Battle of the Five Armies. But he had obviously realized that they were all alive, hadn’t he? But he wasn’t recovering which meant that there had to be another reason for his fading – and Thorin was afraid that _he_ was the reason, no matter what Gandalf had said. What he had done to Bilbo had been horrible. His cruelty couldn’t be undone by simple words, but he had not even had the chance to apologize to Bilbo. He had wished for it, all these years long, he had wished so deeply.

But Bilbo had vanished after the battle, and he had not known if he was alive, injured, dead … Thorin couldn’t suppress a sob. Suddenly, it became too much for him. The three long years of hoping beyond hope, the rush into the Shire, his head dizzy with relief, only to find that Bilbo’s heart had been broken … Should fate really be so cruel? To let him find his hobbit again after all this time, only to watch him fade from this world? He realized that his cheeks were wet, and he buried his face in his hands to muffle another sob. It only made him feel more helpless.

He had caused Bilbo’s heart to break, and now his own heart was broken in turn. It seemed only fair – but his hobbit should not suffer for his failures. He would gladly fade himself if it meant that Bilbo was safe and sound. But that? That wasn’t fair. Thorin wanted to say something, to apologize, but all that came over his lips was Bilbo’s name, half-choked with tears.

He was startled by the touch of chill fingers on his cheek. He let his hands fall into his lap and looked directly into Bilbo’s face. Although the hobbit’s eyes were still clouded, he had moved and reached out for Thorin’s face. His lips moved inaudibly, as if they were figuring out how to pronounce words. But then, Bilbo found his voice, albeit it was coarse and flat.

“Why do you cry?”

Thorin covered the hand on his cheek with his own and leaned into the touch. “I cry”, he answered, “because it breaks my heart to see you like this, Bilbo.”

A long pause. Then: “Why? It is … what I deserve. I betrayed you.”

“You betrayed me! You haven’t –“

To his surprise, Bilbo interrupted him, and he thought he could even hear a hint of sharpness in his voice: “You said so yourself.”

Thorin swallowed. “I … I know. I’m so sorry, Bilbo. I was blind, and in my madness I couldn’t see how brave you acted – and how right. You’ve done right by withholding the Arkenstone from me.” Bilbo’s fingers twitched as he mentioned the king’s jewel, but Thorin kept them intertwined with his. “Please, don’t fret. I dare not to think what would have happened to me if you had given it to me … You’ve done right, you saved me. You saved my life, Bilbo. I was longing to tell you all this time.” With his free hand, he gently grasped Bilbo’s neck and pulled him closer until their foreheads touched. “You do not deserve to fade away, Bilbo. I wish you were happy, sitting in your garden and smoking your pipe, or reading books in your armchair.”

They were so close, Thorin was sure that he would feel Bilbo’s breath on his face. But he didn’t feel the slightest waft of air as the hobbit uttered another: “Why?”

Thorin had to chuckle softly despite his tears. “This question always stood between us, don’t you agree? Right from the beginning. I wondered why you had left your cosy home to join us on our quest, why you returned to the company instead of going back to Rivendell, I asked myself why you vouched for me in Lake-Town, and I wondered why you returned to me amidst the dragon-sickness … I know the answer to the first two questions: You did so because you wanted to help us reclaim Erebor, to get our home back. But I have never found the answer to the other ones ... You vouched for _me_ , and you returned to _me_ , and I wondered if it meant something … If I might hope …” He swallowed. “Oh Bilbo, my dear, sweet Bilbo, I love you. I was so afraid I would never have the chance to tell you. I know that there is no forgiveness for what I’ve done to you, but I had to tell you. It’s alright if my feelings are unwelcome to you, and I will never say a word of it again. I will stay away from you if it is your wish. I – I only want to know that you are alright. I will keep away from you for the rest of my life. Just – just don’t leave me like this. Please.”

Despite his own words, he could not move away from Bilbo; he still kept close to him, savouring the feeling of their intertwined hands and their touching foreheads as long as possible. He felt very light-headed after finally saying what he had longed to say for such a long time, and his heart beat against his chest like mad.

“You love me?”, Bilbo asked after a long, long pause.

“With all my heart”, Thorin said solemnly. Before the hobbit could ask another “Why?”, he tilted his head and kissed him ever so lightly.

At first, Bilbo’s lips felt chill and chapped, but Thorin could almost feel how they warmed under his caress. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but Bilbo’s reaction took him by surprise: He answered the kiss fiercely, almost desperately, suddenly pressing against Thorin and digging his free hand into his hair, drawing him into a dizzying swirl of lips and teeth and tongue and warmth, oh, such wonderful warmth. Thorin felt all of Bilbo’s heart in this kiss.

They separated, and Thorin, who had closed his eyes during their kiss, was afraid to open them again. That had not just happened, had it? That was impossible. But something so beautiful couldn’t be a mere fancy –

He opened his eyes, and the sight let him burst into tears once more.

Bilbo looked at him, his amber eyes twinkling with fondness in the light of the candle. He still was pale, but a tender smile played upon his lips and brightened his whole face up. “Thorin”, he said, and his voice, although a bit hoarse, finally reminded him of the voice he had longed to hear again for such a long time. Bilbo spoke his name so affectionately that Thorin in turn drew him into a deep kiss, trying to pour all feelings he had suppressed so long, his sorrows as well as his hopes, into the touch.

He let go of Bilbo’s hand on his cheek to cradle him. The hobbit melted against him, and now Thorin could really feel how he warmed in his arms. Without thinking too much, his hands found their way underneath Bilbo’s borrowed tunic, revelling as the chill skin grew warm under his palms. It was only when a low moan passed between their lips that Thorin realized that he was behaving utterly inappropriate.

Bilbo didn’t seem to mind, quite the contrary: He even raised his arms so that he could slip it off the easier. He allowed Thorin to take off the mithril shirt as well, though both of them handled it with greater care than the tunic. Thus exposed, he reached for the laces of Thorin’s shirt. The movement of his fingers was still agitated, so the dwarf helped him to loosen them. The shirt disappeared somewhere outside the pool of light.

Thorin found himself lying next to Bilbo and pressed him close to his chest, sighing with pleasure as they touched each other skin to skin. A tremble ran through Bilbo, with cold or excitement, he could not tell. His hands wandered about Bilbo’s body to warm him while he whispered sweet nothings into his ear. His fingers danced over his arms, along his sides to his hips, over his thighs … As he reached the inside of his thighs and stroked them, Bilbo gave a little cry that caused Thorin to stop his movements and withdraw his hands.

“I’m sorry”, he panted, “I didn’t mean to hurt you or to be so rash – ”

“Please, do not stop”, Bilbo asked. Thorin was once more amazed by his voice: It sounded almost as he had kept it in his memory, but now with an undertone he had never heard before, a shade of desire that made his blood run hot. “You don’t hurt me. It’s just … I haven’t felt anything for such a long time, and to feel _you_ now … You feel so warm and good, so … so _right_. Let me be closer to you.” He tugged at Thorin’s belt. “Please.”

“I will grant you every wish, my love”, Thorin promised in a dark voice and gave him a soft kiss before unfastening his belt and stripping down to nothing. He reached for the inside of Bilbo’s thighs once more, stroking them teasingly and thus educing little gasps and moans that chipped away at his own self-control. His touch was light, and he only grazed over Bilbo’s stiffening cock, but it was enough to make him arch his back and beg for more. Between those little pleas, Bilbo managed to moan his name, and the throbbing between his legs became unbearable.

Finally, he clasped Bilbo’s waist and pulled him even closer. Thorin moaned with pleasure as he felt Bilbo’s cock hard against his own. It was _overwhelming_. It took him several deep breaths to regain enough control over his own movements to reach down and grip both of them with his hand. Bilbo gave a wince at the touch, and as Thorin began to stroke them slowly, he buried his face at Thorin’s shoulder. That almost drove him over the edge as he could feel Bilbo’s lips on his skin, and his breath brushed hot over it with every stroke, and the curls tickled the crook of his neck. Bilbo’s moans came quicker and more desperate as Thorin moved his hand faster, and his whole body tensed. He dug his face deeper into Thorin’s shoulder to muffle his cries. He could still hear him calling his name, and the muffled “Thorin, Thorin, Thorin” almost drove him out of his mind.

“Bilbo”, Thorin said, his own voice raw with desire. He took hold of Bilbo under the chin and lifted it gently. “Look at me. Let me see your eyes.” He smiled. “They are beautiful … _You_ are beautiful.”

He was indeed. His body glistened with sweat, and Thorin could not resist licking away a single drop that dripped down his neck. Bilbo’s smile seemed a bit strained – owing to circumstances –, but his amber eyes shone brightly. “I love you, Thorin”, he panted, more than a trace of happiness and laughter in his voice. “I longed to be with you, to be close to you, but I thought that it was impossible – so I ran away. I could not live with the thought of you being dead, not even considering me a traitor … But I could not forget you, yet I could not return to you after all that had happened. I was so desperate, it broke my heart, and – ah!” His stammered apologies turned into a high-pitched cry as Thorin interrupted him with a thrust of his hips and dug his hands into his rear.

“Do not think about it”, he whispered as he peppered his neck and shoulders with kisses. “I’m here, and I won’t leave you. I will stay with you every day and night, till the world changes – if you want it.”

“I do”, Bilbo gasped, throwing back his head with pleasure as Thorin’s grip around them tightened once more. Remembering Thorin’s words, however, he fastened his eyes firmly on him with a smile. “I really do. Oh Thorin, I need you so much …” His hands dug into Thorin’s back, and he wrapped his legs around Thorin’s hips to bring them together even closer.

There was a sparkle in his golden eyes that told Thorin that he was close. His own breath came faster, and he could sense every little detail in the utmost intensity: Bilbo’s sharp little cries, his overwhelming scent, his hard length under his fingers …

A shiver ran through the hobbit’s body, and Thorin quickly captured Bilbo’s mouth with his. The cry with which Bilbo came vibrated through his mouth. It was the last push Thorin needed to climax himself, and he returned Bilbo’s cries and moans wantonly as he rubbed over their slick cocks, the hot spill running over his hand.

They clung to each other desperately to catch their breaths again, and Bilbo kept whispering Thorin’s name. Thorin in turn ran his fingers through Bilbo’s damp curls, kissing him softly wherever he could reach him without letting go of him. His voice was still raw when he finally managed to say: “I love you, Bilbo. Please, don’t ever leave me again.”

“I won’t”, he promised. “I’m sorry for running away from you. I didn’t mean to –”

Thorin silenced him with a deep kiss. “Hush!”, he said. “Don’t start to apologize again. Or do I have to distract you again?” He thrust his hips forward in a slight and playful movement.

Bilbo laughed. “Will you do that whenever I want to apologize for something? It is too tempting!”, he said and pulled him into a kiss.

 

***

 

When Thorin woke early the next morning, he could hear the rain dropping against the windows. For a moment he wondered if they had really managed to arrive during one of the rare bad weather phases of the Shire. However, he didn’t think about the weather outside long, for he held the purest warmth in his arms.

Bilbo was still sleeping peacefully, his head resting on Thorin’s chest, his arms wrapped loosely around him. Thorin marvelled at just how perfect his body nestled up to his, and he lowered his head to nuzzle the golden curls.

Bilbo stirred and mumbled something, but when he opened his eyes, a smile appeared on his face. “Good morning”, he said, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning”, Thorin replied and pressed a peck onto the soft curls, letting his hands run over the hobbit’s bare back.

They stayed silent for a while, enjoying their closeness, until Bilbo tensed all of a sudden.

“Givashel? Are you alright?”, Thorin asked anxiously. He had almost forgotten the fading after the breath-taking events of last night, but now he was afraid that Bilbo might feel a setback, or –

To his relief, Bilbo chuckled; it sounded a bit embarassed. “It’s wonderful to lie with you like this, Thorin, but”, his face flushed, “I am starving.”

Thorin laughed. “If it’s nothing else … I’m relieved to hear that you feel hungry again, my dear. Let’s get up then, shall we?”

Despite his own suggestion, he lingered a few more moments and watched as Bilbo climbed out of bed. It was a beautiful sight, and he felt his heart beating faster. He got up quickly and pulled him into an embrace to feel the hobbit’s skin on his once more. Bilbo answered his caress with a happy laughter.

Afterwards he picked his clothes from the ground, and Bilbo took a fresh shirt and pants that were placed on top of a dresser – it was probably Dori who had managed to clean some of the hobbit’s clothes, Thorin assumed. He smiled as Bilbo picked Thorin’s spare shirt as well and pulled it over his head.

They walked into the kitchen hand in hand. Bilbo was glad to find his home warm and clean, and the pantry filled. Thorin was once more glad for the great vigilance of the other dwarves – it would have been very sad to show him a desolate home.

In the kitchen, Bilbo objected as Thorin wanted to help him in preparing breakfast. “Oh no”, he huffed, “you’ve already done so much for me, making you breakfast is the least I can do. Besides”, he added with a soft smile, “taking care of you feels nice. Better get used to it.”

So Thorin let Bilbo have his way and sat down as his hobbit bustled around the kitchen. He moved swiftly from the teakettle to the pans and pots as if he had never done anything else, as if the past three years were only a bad dream. And probably they were. Thorin’s heart swelled with joy, and whenever Bilbo passed him, he seized his hand and squeezed it gently or pulled him onto his lap to snatch a kiss until Bilbo laughed that the eggs and the bacon wouldn’t be fried, but burnt if he kept distracting him. He returned the caresses eagerly nonetheless.

The rattling of pans and the smell of a hearty breakfast didn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t long before Balin – who had always been an early riser – appeared in the kitchen. He stared at Bilbo with wide eyes before hugging him with a laugh. Bilbo laughed heartily as well, and the merrymaking woke the other dwarves and drew them into the kitchen in next to no time. Gandalf appeared as well, and his face was bright although he bumped his head at the doorframe when entering the kitchen. There was laughter and sobbing, pledges of service in joyful and emotional voices, and so many other expressions of affection it made Thorin dizzy.

“We’re so happy to see you being yourself again, Mr Boggins”, Kili summed up with a laugh.

“And I’m happy to see all of you. You know”, Bilbo said, and a smile enlightened his face as he looked fondly at Thorin, “if there is anyone who can mend a broken heart, it’s you dwarves.”


End file.
